I'll Follow the Sun
by APat96
Summary: Steve Rogers finally sums up the courage to look for Peggy. And he finds her, too. He also finds a huge secret, one that was kept for a good seventy years.
1. Chapter 1

"Agent Carter." He supplied the name to the secretary. He leaned over he counter, as if trying to see the computer screen better. Even after spending a good deal of time in the future, or 'present', as it was to everyone else, he _still _wasn't used to the technology. The bright light of the computer screen still hurt his eyes.

The secretary 'echhemmed' and turned the screen away from him, giving him a dirty look. She continued typing with her long, artificial nails, her eyes focusing intently on the screen.

"You got some ID, Mr…"

"Rogers. Captain Rogers." He answered, fishing through his pocket for his wallet. He opened the leather, tugging out his ID card. The woman sighed, turning back towards the screen and typing away at her keyboard.

"_Peggy_ Carter?" She asked, turning her gaze towards Steve. She fluttered her eyelashes coquettishly, leaning forward so that more of her ample chest was exposed. Steve blushed, diverting his eyes.

"Yes!" he cleared his throat to contain his excitement. "I mean, uh, yes, miss. You've got her on your…uh…list?"

"Yes." The secretary leaned back, scowling. "We have her on our _database._"

"Great! That's swell!" He grinned. He had been hesitant about coming her, to the Army records office. Even now, as he saw the dame working the front desk, he still had some resignations.

His _real_ fear, though, had been finding out whether or not Peggy was still alive. It would be one thing to never see her again, without knowing exactly what happened. It would be another to find out that she had died—that he had missed his chance. He just hoped that he would be visiting _her_ today, not her grave.

"Well, Captain Rogers, I'll need to be getting back to work, now, so if there's nothing more, then—"

"There is, actually." He snapped to attention. "I…I need to know….if she's still….alive." He forced the word out.

"She your grandmother or something?" The woman snapped her gum, looking him up and down.

"Well, actually, I'd call it more of a lost love." He grinned. The woman scowled at him again, and flipped her gaze back to the screen.

"She's alive, alright."

"Really?" His heart fluttered, his stomach dancing its way up into his chest.

"Yup." She sighed again. "You want the address?"

"I would appreciate that, if you don't mind." He grinned. The woman rolled her eyes, snapped her gum again, and pulled a pencil and paper from a drawer at what seemed like a turtle's pace.

"Thank you so much!" He called over his shoulder as he ran towards the door, nodding his head to her as he went.

"Just don't do anything weird!" She called back to him, shaking her head.

Steve ran to his bike, pulling back on the throttle and speeding out of the parking lot as fast as he could. The wind felt nice through his hair. The sun seemed…brighter. In fact, everything was brighter. Steve knew he was being silly. A silly dreamer. But he couldn't help but feel giddy.

The house he pulled up to was nice. Small, but nice. A well kept lawn, a white picket fence, bright blue siding. It was as good as you could possibly get.

He parked the bike, almost tripping himself as he tried to step off, and jogged up to the door.

Steve rang the bell, quickly mopping his brow with his sleeve and straightening his hair.

"Just a second." He heard someone call through the door. He recognized the voice, and his heart did a little kick.

The door was pulled open, revealing a woman of tall stature, whose age had not stooped her pose one bit. Her white hair was pulled back into a loose bun, her clothes covered by a wide apron.

"Steve!" She exclaimed, leaning against the door for support. "You…you're late!"

"I know." He nodded, his face flushing.

"I don't very much appreciate being stood up."

"I know."

"It's been seventy years!"

"I know."

"You…" She sighed, pushing herself up off against the door. "Would you like to come in for a cookie?"

If Steve was confused, it was written all over his face. He followed Peggy into the house, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, unsure of what to say.

"Sit." Peggy ordered, pointing to a sofa as she walked into the adjoining kitchen. She reappeared with a platter of fresh cookies, along with a couple glasses of milk.

"Thank you." He nodded, reaching for a cookie as she sat down in the chair opposite him.

"So, tell me, Steve, where you've been all this time."

Steve wiped at his mouth, urging himself to swallow before he answered. It wasn't polite to talk with your mouth full.

"In the ice. They say I was…sleeping."

"Really, now?" She nodded, her eyes holding an amused expression. "You don't look a day older than the last time we saw each other. And, well, look at me." She laughed, gesturing at her white hair and wrinkles.

"Oh, come on, now, Peggy. You don't look a day over fifty." He grinned as she batted at his shoulder from across the coffee table.

"Well?" She asked, settling back into her chair and gazing at him with quizzical eyes. "Aren't you going to ask me what I've done for the past seven decades? It would be rude not to." She laughed.

"Okay, Agent Carter," He dragged out her name. "What have you been up to?"

"Well, you know, it's actually not Carter, anymore." She took a bite of cookie and swallowed. "That was a nice segue into this discussion."

"You…you, ah, got married." His eyebrows lifted in shock. They shouldn't have, though. He should've expected a gorgeous dame like Peggy to marry right off the bat.

"That I did." She nodded.

"Any…kids?" He hoped his hot face wasn't as red as he felt it was.

"Just one."

"You…you're being quite elusive." He noticed.

"I'm answering your questions, aren't I?"

"Yeah, but not much more."

"What would you like? My daughter's name? Her social security number? You need only ask." She smirked.

"Fine, then. When was she born?"

"1944."

"Huh." His eyebrows narrowed. "So you met your husband around the time that I went missing. Must've been a great guy, to land you."

"Actually, Steve, I didn't marry until 1950."

"Oh, well, I…uh, there's nothing terribly wrong about having children out of wedlock, as long as you loved the guy. I'm sure your husband was a great guy." He repeated, pasting a weak smile on his face.

"I definitely loved my daughter's father. My husband? Eh, not so much." She smiled.

"You're sure dancing around details, Peggy."

"I try." She grinned.

"So your husband wasn't the father of your baby?" He asked, his brow furrowing.

"Ah, _now_ he gets it!" She exclaimed facetiously. "Light dawns over Marblehead!"

"So he wasn't." Steve nodded. "Nothing wrong with that. Killed in the war?"

"You could say that."

"Aw, come on, Peggy!" He laughed. "You were never one for mind games."

"Oh, fine, Steve. You really want to know the father? He _was_ someone that you know."

"Stark? I bet it was Stark."

"No, you goose! It was you!" She laughed, sitting back to watch his expression change.


	2. Chapter 2

_"What!"_ Steve's voice cracked. It would have been embarrassing, under normal conditions. Now, however, sounding like a pubescent boy was the least of his concerns.

Peggy just cackled. "Steve, calm yourself!" She admonished through her laughter. The years had really done a number on her. She was much more evil than before, finding joy in his panic. He couldn't determine whether to swoon or run away.

"You—but….we….I…..What?"

"Steve, I really do hope you remember that night." She smirked. Her dark eyes were sharp as ever, and he was instantly drawn back to another night in which he was transfixed by them.

_A red dress. It was a red dress that she was wearing. Conservative enough, and yet that crimson color did nothing but fuel the libido of every male in that bar. Steve was a gentleman, of course, but even he was not immune to that crimson dress. The bullet bra she was wearing didn't help. Peggy looked like a regular old Jane Russell. Maybe even prettier._

_ When she walked into that pub, the only thing he could think of was pulling down that dress, so that he could expose her shoulders. He did, of course, but that was later._

_ It hadn't been easy, though, getting her into his arms. Peggy was a rogue lover. Never wanted to be tied down. At times Steve thought she had more balls than any of the guys in the Army._

_ Oh, but once he had her, it was like nothing else mattered. Not a care in the world. Their time together, though short-lived, was magical—surreal, almost. And her body, oh, her body—_

"Steve?" Peggy's voice brought him back to the real world. At least that's what it was supposed to be. Steve would have picked that night in the pub over any day in 2012.

"Yeah." He snapped to attention focusing his eyes. He cleared his throat, hoping to erase the blush that had crept up on his face. "I was…uh, well…remembering."

"Ah, good." She smirked. "You were beginning to worry me." Then, she coughed, a deep, hacking cough, one that seemed to rattle her elderly frame. All at once, Steve was reminded that those sharp, dark eyes no longer belonged to that of a twenty-something. They belonged to an old woman. The mother of his child.

"You, we…uh….we should get married!" he jumped up suddenly, feeling his stomach catch in his throat. The idea had come to him quickly. It was the decent thing to do, even if he was a little late.

"What?" Peggy asked, her brow furrowing as her hand flew up to her chest. "Steve, are you out of your—"

"I'm completely sane!" He insisted, beginning to pace. He dragged his feet as hard as he could, hoping to shake away his jitters. He paced back and forth, back and forth, breathing as quickly as he could. Suddenly, oxygen was as good as gold. And he was a prospector.

"Steve." Peggy murmured, holding out a hand to stop him. He ignored her, continuing to pace. "Steve." She said again. "Steve!" She yelled this time, fixing him with a glare as coughing took over her once more. He stopped in his tracks. Wordlessly, she pointed down at the carpet he stood on. He had worn it down to the frame; the ornate detail was smeared from existence.

"I…I'm sorry." He murmured, staring at his feet. "I'll get another one! One twice as good!"

"It's not about the carpet, Steve." Peggy said, motioning for him to sit down.

"I…I, uh…" He sat down, resting his elbows on his knees and lowering his head. "I missed out on so much. I want to make up for it. I want to do the right thing."

"Steve. We're not going to get married." Peggy stated.

"I know."

"And you also know that I don't blame you for anything. I had just as much a part in that night as you did. And the accident is nobody's fault." He remained silent. "Because you can't control accidents like that—like plane crashes. You can't control them."

"You must've been so mad." He muttered, still keeping his head down.

"I was, at first." She agreed. "But I got over it. I got over you." At this he lifted his head, and she could see the pain in his eyes. She had had seventy years to come to terms with it all. He had had mere weeks.

"Then, I…well, I guess it's over, then." He whispered.

"No, Steve. It doesn't have to be over." She smiled weakly. He nodded and continued to look down.

"Can I…Can I know her name?" He said faintly. Peggy had to lean in to hear him better.

"Sarah. Her name was Sarah."

_"Was?"_ His head snapped up, his brow tightening.

"Yes, Steve." Peggy nodded solemnly. "She died almost twenty years ago."

Steve stood up, his hand flying to his mouth. He paced, more slowly this time, and looked around the room. There were so many pictures. So many pictures of so many people. Any one of them could have been her.

The mantle, though, housed a small bundle of pictures. Small children—probably grandchildren—birthdays, weddings—all the things he had missed.

And there it was, front and center. It was him. Rather, it was the scrawny, littler him. Before everything had happened. Before everything had taken over. Damn, he looked so brave. He was probably braver than he was now.

Next to that picture was a smaller one, framed in silver. He almost mistook the woman for Peggy. She had the same dark hair, and the same curve of the mouth. A smirk. A constant smirk. A challenge to the world.

But she had different eyes. They were familiar to him: he saw them in the mirror every day. And it was then that he knew.

Silently, he lifted the frame from the mantle, walking slowly back to his seat. Peggy sat across from him, wordlessly, studying his face with concern and confusion.

Steve traced the outline of Sarah's face. God, she looked just like Peggy. He studied her dimple, her smirk, the crease of her brow. Her nose was suddenly smeared by a rogue tear, hitting the glass of the frame.

He quickly brought a hand up to his eye, pawing at his tears with the back of his hand. He was ashamed; captains should not cry.

"Steve?" Peggy asked finally, her gentle voice lilting through the air with caution.

"How, uh…" he cleared his throat, hoping to hold back any further tears. "How did she…die?"

"Well, cancer took her, in the end." Peggy said, sighing and looking up towards the ceiling. "She was fifty. Three kids, a husband, a well-paying job. You would have liked her—she was a lawyer, never stood down from a fight."

Steve laughed, momentarily allowing some tears to stream down his face. Once again, he pawed them away.

"Did she…did she know…about…me?" he murmured.

"Yes, Steve." Peggy smiled. "She knew you. The _real _you." She gestured towards the mantle.

He nodded thoughtfully, placing the picture on the coffee table. He wiped at his eyes once more, looking up to the ceiling just as Peggy had done. There was really nothing else he could do.

"I would've like to know her."

"I know you would have, Steve."

"And, her kids? I got grandkids?" He asked, a weak smile illuminating his face.

"I'll do you one better, Steve—you've got _great-_grandkids."

He exhaled, his eyes widening. He shook his head in disbelief. "Where the hell did the years go?"

"Well, dear, I believe they were buried somewhere in the arctic tundra." She answered with mock sincerity.

"God," he laughed, "You're never going to let me forget that, will you?"

"Not on your life." She answered, struggling to rise from her chair. Steve quickly jumped to assistance, holding her elbow steady. "Have you got a place to stay for the night, Steve?" She asked. "It's awfully late."

"Well, I was planning on heading back to the base."

"Driving all night?" She laughed.

"It's not like I haven't gotten enough sleep." He threw back.

"Touché." She agreed. "But I have a room, if you're interested." She raised an eyebrow, gesturing towards the stairs.

"Why, Peggy Carter," he gasped in mock disbelief. "Are you _propositioning _me?"

She laughed, swatting his arm playfully. "Take it or not!" She said, ambling off towards the stairs. Steve quickly followed her, following her every step of the way.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey." _Came the voice, sliding through his ears like butter on a hot skillet.

_"Come on, Steve, time to wake up." _It said. _"You're going to miss the bus." _It cackled, the type of voice that should've been on the radio. The kind of voice that sounded smoky and sophisticated all at once. Like a good scotch.

Steve pried an eye open, half awake, suspicious, and disgruntled. It had to be a strange dream. It had to be. Why else would he be hearing voices?

He was lying on his side, his arm buried under the pillow, staring at the wall. The sole decoration was a needlepoint picture of a rabbit. His eyes narrowed. The rabbit seemed to be staring at him, with these huge, demonic eyes. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle.

In fact, the hairs on his arms were sticking up, too. He had goosebumps. He _never_ got goosebumps. Strange. Maybe the window had been left open.

He flipped over to his other side to check the status of the window, and was shocked, physically, and mentally.

"Ow!" He swore, pulling his hand back, closing his eyes and wincing in pain.

_"Ow!" _Echoed back at him.

A pit in his stomach formed, and, slowly, he forced one eye open. And then the other. And then he gasped.

_"You know, you should really watch where you put those meat clubs." _She complained, rubbing at her arm. _"Some of us are _very_ sensitive."_

"Oh, God….you…..you're…..I mean, you….." Steve scrambled to sit up, inching towards the edge of the bed, as far away from the blue figure next to him.

_"What'sa matter? Cat got your tongue?" _She smirked, cackling again.

"You…..you're Sarah." He managed to get out, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

_"Indeed." _She nodded, confirming it. _"I would offer to shake hands, but, well, you saw what happens when the living and the dead converge."_

"You shocked me." He whispered.

_"Well, I can't take _all_ the blame, can I? If you had only watched where you were pawing at, it wouldn't have happened."_

Steve remained silent, wiping the sleep from his eyes with both hands. His hands dropped to his lap, and he studied her, unsure of what to say.

Sarah's blue form flickered next to him, mimicking his cross-legged sitting position. Waves of chilled air curled off of her, as if she were made of ice. She wore black, wide-legged pants, and a crisp jacket—a lawyer's attire. Her hair was pinned up. Pink—no, red lips. And a smirk.

"Why are you here?" He regained his composure, swallowing the lump in his throat.

_"Well, it _is_ my mother's house, is it not?" _She replied, inspecting her ghostly cuticles. _"That makes _you_ the intruder."_

"I…I know that." Steve answered, scratching at his head. "But you're…dead. Doesn't that mean you're supposed to be in, you know, Heaven or something?"

_"Oh, Steve, you're so naïve." _She cackled again. _"You've seen, with your very own eyes, Norse Gods, and yet you still have faith in Monotheism. How charming." _Her voice dripped sarcasm.

"Look, we can debate religion all night, and I have a feeling you'd win, but I don't believe that's why you're here."

_"Naïve, but not idiotic." _Her eyes dropped from her cuticles. _"Well, I came to meet you, of course."_

"To…meet me?" His eyebrows furrowed.

_"You _are _my dad."_ She shot back, staring him down. It felt strange to him, seeing someone older than him calling him that. She seemed to like it no more than he did.

"I…I'm not your dad." He winced, looking down at his hands. "Father, yes, but…I don't think I deserve that title."

_"You're forthcoming with your flaws and mistakes. Not many people are." _Sarah mused, her eyebrows lifting. _"You know, Mother always used to say that you were a strong man trapped in a weak man's body."_

"She…she said that?"

_"Yes. I can see that, now. You're honest, loyal, and brave. Admirable qualities, I must say."_

"How…how do you know this?"

_"I'm very good at reading people. Always have been."_

"Modest, too, I see."

_"I didn't say I was perfect." _She shrugged.

"So…" Steve changed the subject "If I'm supposedly so great, then why do I feel like…"

_"Like shit?" _Sarah filled in for him, batting her eyes innocently. He winced, never one for swearing. He nodded nonetheless. _"Because that's exactly your problem. You're _too_ perfect. Those qualities—loyalty, honesty, bravery—are fine alone. Admirable alone. But together, a toxic mix."_

"If I'm so toxic, then why didn't I mess something up sooner?" He sighed, looking back down at his hands. He picked at his thumbnail, feeling so low, he had no idea what to do.

_"You were weak before—physically. You had a great flaw to offset a great strength. Then it all changed."_

"So there's no way to win. Two terrible trails, and I have to choose between the two. Great." He pushed a hand through his hair, sighing.

_"You can win." _Sarah retorted. _"You just need to accept the fact that there will be battles that you cannot win. You know that saying—'can't win 'em all?'"_

"I…I _know_ I can't win everything." He said defensively. "I may as well try, though. That's better than nothing, right? It gives me a better chance."

Sarah looked back at him with sad eyes. It was the first time she had shown any emotion, any pity. A pit formed in Steve's stomach. A lump in his throat. His eyes bugged out, holding in tears, holding in emotion.

"What's going on?" He demanded. "What aren't you telling me?" Sarah reached her hand forward, as if to comfort him, but once it touched his knee, a sparks flew, and bluish white electricity shattered the night. She pulled her hand back with a wince.

_"Steve…my mother is old." _She said quietly. _"She's going to die soon—whether it be in the next couple weeks, the next couple months, the next couples years."_

"I….I know that. I….know that she's….." His voice cracked and he shut his mouth.

_"You _can't_ win that battle. You can't win the battle against death. It can't be done. And you need to accept this, Steve, or you'll destroy yourself trying."_

He remained speechless, afraid to open his mouth for fear of breaking down.

_"You have to promise me that."_

He didn't respond.

_"Steve."_

He nodded, finally, glancing up briefly to meet her in the eye. He blinked rapidly, holding back tears and looked back down.

_"Bye, Dad." _Sarah whispered, attempting a smile as she dissipated into the night. He grappled for her, though he knew it meant a shock, but came up with only air. Chilled, smoky air.

He collapsed back on the bed, staring up at the plaster ceiling and breathing heavily.

The next thing Steve knew, his eyes were opening for real, and he was still tucked into bed, alone, the open window next to him leaking in cold air that fluttered the thin drapes.

He jolted up in bed, turning left and right. It had only been a minute ago that he had spoken to Sarah. Only a minute. And yet, here he was, alone, having just woken up, as if it were all a dream.

Steve lay back down in the bed, punching the pillow a few times to make it more comfortable. Through the thin walls, he could hear the rise and fall of Peggy's breath as she slept in the room next to him.

Try as he could, Steve couldn't fall back asleep. Sure, he was alone, assured that the encounter had only been a dream. Sure, the bed was comfortable enough.

But the pit in his stomach still remained.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve awoke the next morning in a cold sweat. The sheets were tangled all around his massive frame, and his pillow lay on the floor, several feet away from the bed. His breathing was irregular.

Downstairs, he could hear Peggy cooking breakfast, humming some big-band music as she worked. _In the Mood_, if he wasn't mistaken. He nearly smiled before recalling last night's events.

_Was Peggy going to die soon? When? What had Sarah been trying to tell him?_

His head nearly exploded with all the thoughts. Groaning, he slipped from bed, and the small wooden frame creaked as he did.

Steve paced to the bathroom, splashed his face with cold water, changed his clothes, and padded downstairs.

"Good morning, Steve." Peggy smiled as she flipped a pancake, placing it atop the high stack that sat on the plate next to her. "It's been so long since I've made breakfast for anyone! I thought I'd make extras, just in case." She grinned, placing two cups of coffee at the table.

"Yeah, uh, I…morning." He stuttered, taking a seat at the small kitchen table.

"Did you sleep well?" She asked.

"Yes ma'am." He replied dutifully, though his voice cracked as he did so.

"Hmm." She frowned, pouring some more batter in the pan. "You're lying to me."

"Excuse me?" He spluttered, nearly dropping his coffee.

"Yes, you are." She nodded, her gray eyebrows furrowing. "But the question, Steve, is why? Why are you lying? Did you _not_ have a good night?"

"I…I, uh…" He sighed, deciding that lying was no use. "I had a dream about Sarah, last night."

"Really?" Peggy's eyebrows perked up. "About?"

"She…uh, well, she mocked me…and told me that….that I was flawed, _toxic_, even, and…and that well, that I would lose something important to me."

"Strange." Peggy shrugged with a confused smile. She turned back to the pan, humming once more.

"Uh, Peggy?" Steve asked finally, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Yes, Steve?" She called over her shoulder.

"Didn't you hear me? I said that the ghost of our dead daughter appeared to me in a dream, and gave me ominous news. Isn't…doesn't that cause some _alarm_ for you?"

Peggy sighed, flipping the last of the pancakes onto the plate as she turned off the stove.

"Look, Steve, when Sarah died, I had _tons _of dreams about her. Believe me, plenty of them had bad warnings. But here I am, all these years later, and nothing has changed."

"So…so you think it's meaningless?"

"No, Steve." She smiled, with her small, sarcastic half-smile, "I don't think it's completely _devoid_ of meaning. Who knows? Maybe it's just your brain's way of telling you to go out and enjoy life, and appreciate all that you have."

He sighed, giving her a skeptical look, and rested his elbows on the table in front of him.

"Look, with these types of things, you have to be an optimist, okay?" She smiled, taking the plate and bringing it over to the table.

She took a stack of three pancakes for herself, pouring a hefty dose of syrup on them, and began to eat, quietly. Steve's plate, however, remained clear of food.

"Steve, aren't you going to—"

"The dream was about _you_, okay?" He blurted suddenly. "She was warning me about your death!" His breathing was erratic, and he struggled to open his airway.

"Steve." Peggy smiled, grabbing his hand to console him. "Steve, it's okay. It's alright."

"No, it's not alright, because I'm going to be alone, and you're going to leave me, and I…I can't do it, Peggy, I can't!"

"Steve!" She admonished, slapping his face lightly. "Get a hold of yourself!"

He winced, and his breath quieted, his pupils returning to normal.

"Now, Steve. You know what you're going to do after we finish breakfast? You're going to take some of the cookies I made yesterday—heaven knows there's just too much for me—and you're going to get on your bike and head back to wherever it is you came from. No looking back."

"But I—"

"No buts! Because Steve: I don't plan on dying anytime soon. Understand? I've taken perfectly good care of myself—on my own—for the last few decades, and I don't plan on stopping. Got that? I'll only allow you to visit if you promise not to obsess about my mortality. Okay? Because if it doesn't worry me, it shouldn't worry you, either."

Steve could only nod, as she finished her lecture and began eating her pancakes again. Suddenly, it was as if the clouds had been lifted. His heartbeat became regular, his appetite returned, and they finished their meal together, talking, laughing, and swapping stories.

Afterwards, as planned, he placed a Ziploc baggie full of chocolate chip cookies in hi pocket, pulled on his leather jacket, and took out the keys to his bike.

"Goodbye, Peggy." He said, pulling her in for a tight embrace.

"Goodbye, Steve." She nodded, placing a small kiss on his cheek. He smiled as he walked towards the bike, sitting and starting the engine. The motorcycle roared to life, and he puttered away, into the early morning sunlight, following nearly all of Peggy's proposed plan. He did, however, break one rule. He looked back, as he was driving off.

Peggy was there, standing on her lawn, just as he had left her. When she saw him turn back, she gave him a smirk, and shook her head as she began to walk back indoors.

Steve faced forward again, a grin plastered to his face, as he drove on, the sunshine warming and illuminating his face.


End file.
